torg 03- The Nightmare Dream (33 page)

"Remember to keep moving," Pluppa warned as she steered the carriage toward the bridgehead.

"And don't look directly at the stones," Grim added.

"Are we going to walk?" Bryce asked.

"How else do you expect to cross the bridge, Father Bryce?" Pluppa returned.

"Why not keep driving?"

Tolwyn suddenly burst out laughing. "Why not, indeed!" she exclaimed. "There is no reason not to return to Aysle in style!"

Pluppa shrugged, then swung the carriage around and pointed it at the bridge.

"Are we sure this is safe?" Bryce asked Toolpin quietly so that the others couldn't hear.

"Perfectly," Toolpin assured him, "unless something goes wrong."

"You're a comforting soul, Toolpin," Bryce replied dryly. Toolpin beamed at the compliment.

lis

Katrina Tovarish stepped carefully across the threshold of the house and immediately found herself in another world. The cold she had felt outside became an icy shawl within the house, wrapping around her shoulders like some skeleton's boney fingers. It was like death within the confining structure, and she was suddenly grateful that she could not see.

She touched the wall with her hand and guided herself forward, trying to concentrate on everything but the feel of the wallpaper
(it felt like skin)

as she made her way further into the place. Once this had been a home, she thought. In the background she could still sense the lingering memories of family and love. But those good images were buried beneath the cold alienness of the current occupant. She stretched out her senses. Yes, there was only one, but there had been more recently.

Katrina followed the wall until she reached a doorway. She paused before pressing on, trying to determine where the thing she sought
(or did it seek her?)

was hiding. But she could not pick it out from among the other alien things within the house. Her senses were not that refined yet. She would have to work on that if she survived this night.

Like a high diver standing on the brink of oblivion, Katrina plunged into the room. The cold was stronger here, and she knew her teeth were chattering. It was more than just cold, though. This was where the aliens slept and worked. This was where they used their powers to strike at her across the distances between here and Moscow. There was evil here, and she suddenly wished she had not come. Why didn't Nicolai talk her

out of this? Why did he let her come alone?

She started to turn, to leave the way she had entered, when she heard the click of a metal claw scraping across the wood floor. She froze, listening, trying to determine how far away the noise had been. Did she have enough time to run, to escape, before the thing was upon her? She decided to chance it.

Katrina Tovarish ran.

But the alien was faster.

She heard the flapping of great wings, felt the stirring of the air. She had only taken three steps when she felt the clawed hands grab her, force her down. Fetid breath assaulted her, and she tried to fight her way free. But the thing was strong. It held her tightly. Then, to make the horror worse, the thing spoke.

"You are blind, yet you see more than most on this puny world," the thing said. It spoke her language, but its accent was strange, and the words fell from its tongue with difficulty.

Gathering her courage, Katrina asked, "What are you?"

The thing laughed. "I am of Tharkold, the cosm that will take your land. You are the one that stopped us earlier. You are the one I led here."

Led here? Then Nicolai had been right. The attack at the center had been to lure her into this trap. And she had fallen for the deception so easily, so confident that her own abilities would serve her. The mistake was going to cost her and her country a great deal.

"Why are you doing this?" Katrina asked, stalling for time. She hoped an idea would come to her, but her mind refused to think as fear threatened to overwhelm her.

"Enough questions, girl," the Tharkold snarled, running one sharp claw slowly across her cheek. The alien did not cut her — yet. "It is time for you to sleep."

The alien lifted her from the floor, holding her so that she could not move. He forced her to move, and an image came to her mind. She saw a shell of some sort, like a clam shell. It was filled with machinery and slime, and it was directly in front of them. The Tharkold was going to seal her in a shell! She struggled, but to no avail.

"Why do you fight me, girl?" the Tharkold asked. "You will sleep safely within the pod until my master arrives. I am sure he wants to meet the girl that caused him so great a setback." The alien laughed.

Then the pod was before them, and Katrina could smell the slime. "I do not want to go in there," she said.

"I am not giving you a choice," the Tharkold responded.

The fear was great now, and Katrina could feel herself slipping away. No! her mind screamed. Do not put me in the slime! Do not close me in the pod! No!

And then her mind shattered into a thousand shards of glass.

119

Decker heard the distant thunder the same moment he saw the towering castle rise out of the mist-filled valley. The castle was a many-spired construct that must have been magnificent at one time. Now it looked dark and foreboding, a tomb with battlements and ramparts. He turned back. On the horizon he saw another tower, as dark as the one in the valley, but made of more insubstantial material. It was the tower of black, lightning-filled clouds that had followed them from Takta Ker.

"What now, Kurst?" Decker asked as he pointed out

the approaching storm.

"Now we run/' the shapeshifter answered. "We have to reach the castle, and time is running very short."

"What's the point?" Julie screamed. Decker heard more than a hint of hysteria in her voice. "No matter how far we run, the Wild Hunt will catch us. Do you remember the reports? It slaughtered Covent's platoon. What chance do the three of us have?"

"We are alive, Julie," Kurst stressed. "We have every chance in the cosmverse while that statement remains true. Now come on, do not give up on me yet."

They ran into the Valley of the Sword.

120

Claudine Guerault mingled into the crowd that had gathered in front of the church in Avignon, France. This was the site of the "miracle" that changed her country, and now the crowds were gathering again to witness something that promised to be grand.

She looked upon the arch of light which had fallen from the sky into the church's courtyard. It was still there, calling for her to believe. But miracle or not, she did not like the effect it had on her country. Suddenly France was no longer an enlightened nation on the verge of the twenty-first century. It had reverted to the Dark Ages, no matter how bright the bridge of light appeared to be.

A priest stood on the church steps, emerging from beyond the ornate doors. He raised his hands high into the air, and the crowd fell silent. He waited a moment, letting the silence grow thick, then he spoke.

"My children!" the priest called, blessing the crowd with the sign of the cross. "We have seen a great many things these past few months. This bridge of light was but the first of the miracles bestowed upon us, the chosen people! We have thrown off the tyranny of technology and returned to the simpler ways. The temptations of Satan are behind us, and before us is a brave new world!"

The crowd cheered, and Guerault found it difficult not to be swept up in the excitement. She reached into her pocket, fingering the miniature tape recorder that rested there. If the crowd knew what she carried they would probably tear her apart, but just touching the chunk of the world she remembered helped her fight off the contagious emotions running through the crowd.

"My children," the priest continued, "let us pray! For one is coming who has been to the throne of God our Father, and he shall bring us the new laws of the covenant to spread throughout the world! That is our mission before God! That is the world's salvation!"

"Who is coming?" a man yelled, and the crowd took up the chant.

"Who is coming? Who is coming? Who is coming?" the crowd asked over and over.

Guerault put her hands to her ears, trying to block out the obnoxious sound. But she could only muffle it as the words crashed together.

"Whoiscomingwhoiscomingwhoiscoming?"

The priest raised his hands again, and the chant stopped as quickly as it had begin. He looked through the crowd, seeming to make eye contact with every individual. He lowered his hands.

"The one who comes was called up to God," the priest shouted. "And now he is being returned to lead us into the new world!"

"Who is coming? Who is coming? Who is coming?" the crowd chanted again.

"The new pope of Avignon!" the priest answered. "Jean Malraux I! And the bridge of light is his symbol for the coming age of enlightenment!"

The crowd went wild, praying, chanting, bowing in obedience toward the light bridge. Guerault wanted to scream and run away, but she knew she had to see this new miracle first hand. So she steeled herself and waited for the coming of the world's supposed saviour.

121

Djilangulyip looked at the panorama from the maelstrom bridge in wonder. The bridge actually passed through the dimensions of Earth on its way to the sky, as anyone sensitive to such things could plainly see. Djil was such a man, for he regularly walked two worlds — the awake world and the Dream Time. He specifically looked for one particular dimension, searching the warping space as the steam carriage bounced along the curving arch of stone.

"There it is!" Djil proclaimed, pointing at the shifting horizon that hurt the others to look at.

"What?" Mara asked, squinting as she tried to follow the aborigine's finger.

"England's Dream Time," Djil whispered reverently. "This is where I get off." The aborigine stood on the running board, ready to leap from the moving carriage.

"Djil, what are you doing?" Mara asked, grabbing his arm tightly with her right hand.

"What I have been brought to do, Mara," Djil explained. "Come with me, for this is where you must also do what you have come to do."

"I don't understand you," Mara admitted, looking over to Father Bryce who was now watching their exchange.

"But do you trust me?" Djil asked.

"Yes," Mara said.

"Then come with me," the shaman said as he reached out his hand.

Mara took it, and together they leaped from the carriage to the maelstrom bridge.

122

Bryce was stunned by what he had seen. Mara and Djil had jumped off the steam carriage! What were they thinking of? He got to his feet, moving toward Toolpin and Gutterby who were at the engine's controls.

"Stop this thing!" Bryce demanded. "Mara and Djil have fallen overboard."

"They didn't fall," Toolpin assured him.

"But they aren't here anymore! We've got to go back for them!" the priest shouted frantically.

"We all have a role to play, priest," Gutterby explained. "Let them get on with the one fate has dealt them. You should get ready for your own."

Bryce was about to argue when he felt Tolwyn's familiar touch upon his arm. He turned, and she shook her head softly. "They are up to something, Christopher," Tolwyn said. "Perhaps what they do will help us in the end."

"Do you believe that, Tolwyn?" Bryce asked. "Don't you think we'll need Mara's skills when we face Uthorion?"

"We will need Mara, and Djil, too," Tolwyn admitted. "I hope they are there when the final battle is waged. Now sit down and rest. This trip is far from over, and the hardest part is about to begin."

123

Angar Uthorion knew that time was short. He had to start his journey down the maelstrom bridge soon if he had any hope of sealing his reality to Earth. But he was still afraid, and a part of him knew that the maelstrom bridge was the key to that fear. He had no idea why.

Jean Malraux rose from the couch he had been reclining upon, setting his goblet of wine on the floor. He stretched, working out the kinks in his muscles. Then he placed his miter upon his head.

"It is time for me to go, Angar," Malraux said. "The flock expects me, and I must make an entrance most grand."